Life's A Rodeo
by A. Tenmeadows
Summary: AU. Quinn Fabray is one of the best female bull riders in Ohio. But when she falls in love with her competition, she discovers the similarities between living her life and being in the ring. Quinn/Rachel. Femslash. Don't like, don't read.
1. Out Of The Chute

**Hello, dearest readers! Now, I know I haven't yet completed ****To Burn, To Pine, & Perish****, but this little Quinn/Rachel plot bunny bit me and just wouldn't let go! Never fear, for I love all my stories equally, and shall continue to update both ****Life's A Rodeo**** and ****To Burn, To Pine, & Perish**** whenever I can.**

**Now, enough babble. On with the fiction! : )**

Pickaway County Fairgrounds. It reeks of trampled dust, spilled beer, and stale perspiration.

It is my sanctuary… And today, it is my stage.

My palms are slick with a thin layer of nervous sweat as my fingers dance over the thick braided rope at my hip. My trainer and World Professional Rodeo Association Champion, Shannon "The Cannon" Beiste, strides up behind me and grips my shoulders in a vice grip.

"We've been training six years for this," she practically shouts to be heard over the crowd of already intoxicated spectators.

Six years. A lot has happened since the night of graduation, when Shannon found me sitting on the steps of McKinley, a white plastic trash bag of all the possessions my mother would let me pack in ten minutes at my side. She'd been coming back to the school to get her last set of free weights out of her office, and she'd happened upon me instead. She had parked her black 1980 Ford Mustang Ghia in the space closest to the concrete stairs, gotten out, and plopped down next to me.

I told her everything.

About coming out to my parents. About my father disowning me. About my mother allowing me ten minutes to pack my things and leave the house. Everything. And, instead of the look of pure disgust and utter revulsion I'd been expecting, I received a bear hug that I'm sure did damage to my internal organs, and a place to live for the past six years.

Since that night, Shannon's been my best friend, and more of a mother than my own ever was. She even introduced me to the rodeo… And for the first time in my life, I started doing something because I loved it, not because it'd make me popular; although, I can admit, my new 'aloof cowgirl' look was a real hit with the ladies.

She's had my back, and I've had hers. She even had the simple assault charge I'd gotten when I cracked one of Cooter's balls expunged for me (he'd had the nerve to hit her right in front of me… I saw red).

Shannon smoothes my unruly shock of blonde hair down the best she can manage before gently sliding my battered and scuffed black helmet over my head. She kisses the bars of my facemask and gives me a hearty pat on the back.

"Give 'em hell, Lion Quinn."

I smile around my lucky mouth-guard (the white one Brittany had drawn lion teeth on for me when she came home from Julliard) at the name she'd given me when I cut my hair last year. As she walks to the trainer's box, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

_C'mon, Fabray. Take this bull to school._

I exhale and hoist myself over the yellow paint chipped bars of the bucking chute, dropping my hips to meet the saddle of the already restless black bull. I can tell the red paint on the walls of the chute was starting to get to him. I check the Velcro on my gloves before flashing Shannon the 'ok' sign on the deck. She gives me a thumbs-up and nods to the bullfighters.

With a gust of air, the rusted metal chute doors spring open. The bull (Titus, the training staff had said his name was; it was definitely fitting for a beast his size) bucks and rears immediately, catapulting us both out of the chute and into the center of the ring. In my head, I start the count.

_One. Don't tense up. – go with him._

I curl my fingers tighter on the thick leather strap and clench my thighs around his ribs as the brute twists again.

_Two. That's it. Stay in rhythm._

I realize that I'm tilting forward, my momentum moving in the opposite direction of Titus's body. I inhale sharply as I start to panic.

_Three. What are you doing, Quinn? You're tippin' in!_

I hurriedly lean back in the seat to regain my balance, but as soon as I adjust, the fiendish creature hurls himself to the left, lifting my hips off of the saddle.

_Four. What's your problem? Get your ass down and get back in the middle._

The beast begins to spin violently in tight circles, flinging my torso from one side to the other. I respond quickly, digging the heels of my boots into his sides. The tendons in my forearms feel like they're being ripped apart fiber by fiber… But I can't let go. Not yet.

_Five. Don't be weak. You've got all kinds of daylight under you._

I can feel the threads popping against the fabric of my well-worn brown gloves from the strain. I bend my elbows to ease the tension, and push the crotch of my filthy black padded riding pants into the center of the mount.

_Six. Alright, he's bound to kick soon. Brace hard._

Titus must have read my mind. He kicks out wildly, throwing me forward while his powerful hind legs extend into the air. All of his bone-crushing weight pistons down on his front hooves, and his back bows as the massive muscles pull and flex. My confidence swells… The kick is my favorite part.

_Seven. Just one more second. You survived a natural birth; you sure as hell can beat this bull._

I set my hips before the kick comes down, bracing my pelvis against the saddle and tightening my almost numb digits around the grip. Pressing down against the mount, I lean backward and hold my breath as the impetus crashes downward.

_Eight. C'mon, call it. Call it, dammit…_

The buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts in adulation. I loosen my grasp and let my body slide out of the saddle and off Titus's left flank. My protective vest absorbs the brunt of the fall, but my sore muscles still scream at me when I hit the unyielding dirt floor. I can hear the bullfighters corralling Titus back into the chute behind me as I get to my feet, his loud grunts a clear sign of reluctance. I simply raise my arms above my head and proceed to celebrate my victory.

_Better luck next time, big guy._

**AN: If you all love me like I know you do… Review, por favor! Gracias! : )**


	2. Under Her Spell

**Hey, guys! I'm glad you all liked the first chapter! Now, I have a small challenge for my readers.**

**The first reviewer to correctly name the source of the last chapter's title and Quinn's countdown thoughts shall win a customized fiction from yours truly! Go forth and research! : )**

**But for now, here's Chapter 2!**

"Welcome to Rosalita's Roadhouse, where the women ride bulls and cowboys…"

Joe throws me a wink from behind his microphone stand as he adjusts the brown leather strap of his Alvarez acoustic. The patrons of Rosalita's let out a collective guffaw at Teen Jesus's jibe, to which he responds with a tip of his black cowboy hat. I simply chuckle and raise my green O'Doul's bottle to him before bringing it to my lips for a swig.

"Nah, I'm just kiddin'. I know Quinnie likes her steer."

He sticks his tongue out and laughs throatily, earning another roar from the crowd. I give him the finger and turn back to face the bar as he announces the beginning of his set. I drain my beer and signal Puckerman for another, Shannon sidling up to take the stool next to mine. She drapes a heavy arm across my tender shoulder blades, and I can tell she's already had a few Budweisers.

"This one's on me, Puck," she bellows over the noise as she flicks a five dollar bill onto the mahogany bar. He nods and exchanges the money for my beer before heading down to the other end of the counter at the request of a particularly rowdy group.

"That was one hell of a ride out there today, Q-Ball," she says, clapping a paw against my back and almost making me spit out the amber liquid in my mouth.

"Thanks, Cannon," I smile. "I did learn from the best."

"Awh, you kiss-ass," Shannon laughs. She locks my head in a half-nelson, sets my beige cowboy hat down on the bar, and proceeds to ruffle my hair with her fist. I break away quickly, chortling and replacing my hat on my head.

"Oh, hey," she shouts to be heard over the din. "There's someone I want you to meet. She'll be some big time competition at your next rodeo."

I scoff lightly and rotate on my stool to face the stage after the last chords of Joe's set give way to the loud conversations of the drunken customers. I haven't placed lower than third in a rodeo since I started riding. I'd actually welcome a girl who could give me a run for my money.

The thought barely leaves my head before Teen Jesus hands the microphone off to the most beautiful woman I think I've ever seen. The catcalls rain down on her immediately, and I can't help wanting to join in. Her long, straight chocolate brown hair frames a set of sparkling brown eyes. Her flawless tan skin and beautiful pearly white smile almost stops my heart. She's wearing a red plaid collared shirt like mine, but I like it better on her petite body. Her ripped jean Bermuda shorts showcase a pair of deliciously silky looking legs and I'm dying to let my hands explore them. And to top it off, her cream cowboy hat matches the pair of ivory boots. She locks eyes with me, and something stirs in my lower abdomen when she sends me a knowing smirk.

And just when I think she can't get any sexier… she starts singing.

_"To kiss and tell; it's just not my style._  
_But the night is young, and it's been awhile."_

My heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest. Her mesmerizing eyes twinkle playfully into mine, and I forget that there's anyone else in the bar but the two of us. The sound in Rosalita's falls away, leaving this absolutely breathtaking woman to serenade me. Joe and the band are backing her up, and she sounds like she's recording the song in a studio booth instead of a honky-tonk bar.

_"And she broke my heart, broke it right in two._  
_And it took some time, but I'm feeling like I'm_  
_Finally ready to find somebody new."_

She winks at me, and now I know my jaw's lying among the peanut shells on the floor. Tossing her hair over her left shoulder, she belts out the chorus so clearly and purely that it can only be described as perfection.

_"I wanna kiss a girl, I wanna hold her tight._  
_Maybe make a little magic in the moonlight._  
_Don't wanna go too far, just take it slow._  
_But I shouldn't be lonely in this big ol' world._  
_I wanna kiss a girl."_

The band breaks in with some guy sawing away on a fiddle behind her, but her eyes are still locked on mine. My mouth goes dry as she smiles at me, and I tip my hat to her before shooting her a small grin in return. She blushes a little, causing an eruption of butterflies in my stomach.

"Oi! Lion Quinn!"

Shannon forces me to break my gaze with the stunning brunette onstage by waving a hand in front of my face. My reverie interrupted, I turn my attention back to her.

"What?"

"The girl onstage is the one I wanted to introduce you to. Name's Rachel Berry. Standings said she's the one to beat down in Marion. Didn't know she could sing too, though… Regular Annie Oakley…"

_No. That can't be right. She's too beautiful... too soft..._

I'm so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don't notice the end of the song until I look up to see the sultry singer sauntering over to me.

"Word of advice, Q-Ball," Shannon says into my ear as she spies Rachel approaching. "Try not to drool on her. Makes a bad first impression."

I shove her off as she cackles loudly. I slide off of my barstool and meet my opponent halfway through the crowd. Her hands go to her hips, and my head spins as I think about all the other places I'd like those hands to go…

"So you're Quinn Fabray," she smirks confidently, giving me the once-over before making eye contact with me again. I'm initially surprised she knows my name, but then I remember she'd probably met Shannon earlier in the evening.

"So you're Rachel Berry," I shoot back playfully; this earns me a seductive half smile from the attractive brunette.

"And you'll be my competition at Madison County in two weeks?"

"Looks that way," I grin before pushing my hands down in the pockets of my jeans. "Scared, Berry?"

She giggles flirtatiously and takes a step toward me.

"Not even." she winks again before reaching out to run her fingers teasingly over my wrist. "I'm glad my trainer Sue isn't here. She wouldn't like me fraternizing with the enemy... No matter how adorable she is."

I raise my eyebrow and smirk, feigning surprise at her admission. "So all of that was for little ol' me?"

Before I know it, she's closed the distance between us, and I can smell her subtle Ralph Lauren perfume. She speaks right into my ear, her tepid breath raising goosebumps on my skin and sending shivers down my spine.

"Well, the quickest way to a woman's heart is a song. So tell me," she simpers as her lips graze the shell of my ear. "Did it work?"

Her eyes burn into mine as she pulls away. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in, and she gives me a satisfied smile.

_Damn... I'm so screwed._

**AN:** **Rachel's song, _Kiss A Girl_, is sung by Keith Urban. **

**Reviews are love. And love makes the world go 'round. : )**


	3. Luck Of The Draw

**Hello, my lovelies! I've been chomping at the bit to post this next chapter, but I wanted to give it a few days, so that you all would have a little time to miss me.**

**And, as the winner of the review challenge posted in the last chapter, YourFavoriteReviewer won a customized fiction written by me! It should be posted by Wednesday, so stay tuned!**

**Now, at last, Chapter 3!**

We're among the last of the patrons to leave the bar when it closes at one in the morning. I hold the badly scratched wooden door to Rosalita's open for Rachel, who smiles sweetly and brushes her fingertips over the skin of my wrist as a silent 'thank you'. I let the door swing shut before saying goodnight to Joe and Puck.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Puck says with a leer and a pelvic thrust, earning him a slap on the back of the head and me a reassuring smile from Joe.

I shake my head and turn to see Rachel making her way across the gravel of the parking lot toward a silver 2007 Honda Ridgeline. She pulls out her keys and unlocks it, allowing me to sit on the back bumper while she retrieves something from the cab. I chuckle lightly as I spy the license plate border: 'This is not my boyfriend's truck.'

"You alright to drive?" I call to her as I fiddle with a hole in the upper thigh of my jeans.

A melodious laugh hits my eardrum in response. "I don't drink. Sue says 'champions don't put that garbage in their system'. Although, I'm relatively certain she was drunk when she told me."

She shuts the driver's side door and moves to sit next to me on the chrome fender. I look down to see what she was searching for: a white iPhone in a rebel flag hard case. I smile and look up at her.

"Just checking. I would've offered you a ride."

"That's very sweet," she says as she bumps her shoulder against mine playfully. "But you're my competition, so if the roles were reversed, I'd probably make you walk."

She winks at me cutely in the moonlight, and I feign indignation.

"Watch it, Berry. Keep being rude and I won't give you my number," I shoot back, gesturing to the cell phone in her lap.

Rachel throws her head back, closes her eyes, and lets a full-body laugh permeate her small frame. I can't help but be entranced by the way she looks in this moment; so free, so happy, and as always, so incredibly stunning. I'm so hypnotized by her that I don't realize that she's spoken to me again. She's smirking at me now, and I can feel myself blushing furiously at being caught staring.

"Oh, I'll get your number, Fabray," Rachel smiles mischievously before leaning closer to whisper hotly in my ear. "Because you haven't been able to keep your beautiful eyes off of me."

_Guilty._

I can feel the tips of my ears growing warm after she pulls away. There's no use in denying it; I'd been captivated by Rachel in the bar, and I'd been not-so-subtly ogling her all night.

"Y-You're a very pretty girl, Rachel," I stammer nervously into the pleasant night air. "The prettiest I've ever seen."

I'd said it so softly that I wasn't sure she'd heard me. My eyes focus intently on my lap, where I'm tangling and untangling my fingers anxiously. Suddenly, I feel a moist warmth on my cheek as Rachel's velvety lips connect with it. My heart flutters gaily at the sensation, and a grateful smile tugs at my own lips as hers withdraw.

_Wow. A kiss on the cheek and I'm already swooning…_

"Alright, give me the phone, Berry," I sigh in an attempt to sound exasperated, though the both of us know there's nowhere I'd rather be than right here with her.

She giggles mellifluously before handing it to me. "I thought you'd see things my way, Quinn."

_God, my name has never sounded so beautiful. This girl could read the dictionary and make it sound like Ligeti's __Le Grand Macabre__._

I stick my tongue out at her and unlock the screen to tap in my number. My breath catches in my throat, however, when I notice the picture that's set as her wallpaper. It's of Rachel, standing on the deck of an expensive looking yacht. The sun is bright against her skin, and she's in a fire engine red bikini that leaves little to the imagination. Beneath the same off-white cowboy hat that sits atop her head now, her long, silky chestnut locks hang in damp tendrils that cascade over her shoulders. She's giving her trademark smirk to the camera, and one of her manicured hands is curved around her hip.

"I was changing it while you were so kindly asking me if I needed a designated driver," Rachel says in a low voice, spotting the clear effect the photograph is having on me. "I thought you'd like that one better than the picture of my cats, Claude and Sheila."

I snort, both in confirmation of her assumption and the references to the musical _Hair _made by the names of her pets. I shake my head and dial my phone number with trembling digits.

_This girl is going to be the death of me._

I hand the device back to Rachel, letting my fingertips linger on the skin of her palm, which I'm pleasantly surprised to find is slightly calloused.

_So she really is a rider, and not just a supermodel playing a joke._

"Q-Ball!" Shannon roars drunkenly from the other end of the parking lot.

I look to see her propped up against her car and it's only then that I detect that the lot is completely vacant with the exception of the three of us. I stand up slowly without disconnecting my fingers from Rachel's. She smiles at the intimacy of the gesture and the tenderness in my hazel eyes as I gaze down at her.

"Will I hear from you soon?" I ask hopefully before gently pulling Rachel to her feet.

"Wait by the phone, Fabray," she grins contentedly.

I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it gently, never breaking the connection of our eyes.

"Move your ass, Cowboy Casanova! I need to get home and start nursing this bitch of a hangover!"

Rachel laughs at Shannon's inebriated antics and slides her hand from mine to press it firmly against the worn cotton fabric that covers my collarbone.

"Go on, Romeo," she whispers, her focus now on an expanse of my neck she's tracing lightly with her fingernail. Her teeth tug her bottom lip between them and her sculpted eyebrows draw together cutely. I can tell she's having just as hard a time pulling away from me as I am from her. "Mercutio's getting restless."

"Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night 'til it be morrow," I sigh before tucking a stray lock of her soft hair behind her ear. Her eyebrow quirks up in surprise when I quote the famous play, and I simply smile and tip my hat to her. "I'm not just some rock-head hillbilly, Berry. I do read."

I throw her a wink and turn to make my way over to Shannon. I hear Rachel let out a breathy laugh before getting into her truck.

_Uh oh… Here come the love sweats._

**AN: Alright, here's another review challenge.**

**The first reviewer to correctly identify the source of the last line of this chapter (Quinn's thought) will win the ability to preview Chapter 4 before I post it! So get cracking! : )**


	4. Day Follows Day

**Hello, good readers! My sincerest apologies for the delay in update, but I had some pressing matters to attend to.**

**And as promised, Cassicio, the winner of my last review challenge, has already received this chapter!**

**Rachel's text messages in this chapter with be _bolded and italicized._ Quinn's will just be bolded.**

**So, without further ado, I give you Chapter 4!**

I, Quinn Fabray, am not the pining type. I'm twenty-two years old, and I've never ached with longing for any woman or man that I've picked up. I certainly never check my cell phone every five minutes to see if I've heard from him or her. And yet, here I am, lying on the navy blue plush comforter that covers my queen size bed, attempting to read This Side of Paradise, but daydreaming about Rachel Berry.

It's been two days since I flirted with her under the dim glow of the streetlight in the Rosalita's Roadhouse parking lot. But the memories of her gentle touches, her intoxicating scent, and her melodious voice are vehemently refusing to leave my head. I've been on the same page of my favorite F. Scott Fitzgerald book for the better part of an hour, images of Rachel and her beautiful smile driving me to distraction. Finally, I abandon my efforts to focus and let my battered, dog-eared novel fall from my grasp to the mattress in a frustrated huff. With an exasperated sigh, I stare out of the large bay window of my bedroom and into the bright sunlight of the Lima afternoon.

Even the chipper song of the mockingjays that nest in the oak tree out in the backyard causes my facial muscles to crease into a scowl. Agitated, I push myself off of the bed and throw open the window to stick my head out.

"Shut the hell up, Peeta and Katniss!" I say angrily through clenched teeth, spitting out the names Brittany had given them when she'd come to visit. "Quit flaunting your relationship in my face!"

I slam the window pane down and turn on my heel to storm out of the room. I'm met, however, with the sight of a stunned Joe Hart, brown eyes wide and mouth agape. My face instantly flushes with embarrassment as I sink down to sit at the foot of the bed.

"H-Hey, Joe," I whisper softly, my eyes glued to my toes, which are scrunching tufts of taupe carpeting between them.

Joe lets out a snort and moves to take a seat in the computer chair at my desk next to the window.

"So," he clears his throat with a grin. "What seems to be the problem, Quinnie?"

I know that he's here because Shannon figured his presence would stop my brooding over Rachel, so as hard as it is to believe that he's unaware of my present dilemma, I proceed to tell him anyway.

"She hasn't texted yet."

When I say it out loud into the still air of the room, I realize just how trivial and childish it must sound. But when I tear my gaze away from the floor and look up at Joe's expressive eyes, I only see empathy and understanding.

"So that's why you've spent the last two days in your pajamas and just verbally abused the wildlife that's living in your backyard?"

He chuckles and gestures to today's pajamas: a pair of black Nike running shorts I've had since high school and a white t-shirt advertising last year's Triple H Ranch Barreling Classic. I nod in defeat before glance, no doubt for the millionth time in the past forty-eight hours, at the Droid RAZR Maxx that's sitting on my mahogany bedside table. The screen is black… still nothing. My shoulders hunch over in dejection; an action not unnoticed by my perceptive best friend.

"C'mon, Quinnie," he coaxes before brushing a dreadlock out of his line of vision and leaning forward to rest his bare elbows on his denim covered knees. "She'll get back to you eventually. No girl would get up onstage in front of a crowd of strangers to sing to someone she's not into."

A faint smile breaks through my blues as the memory of Rachel serenading me comes back to my conscious mind. "I guess you're right."

"I know I am," Joe nods resolutely before grinning at me. "Now, go shower and put some clothes on. Shannon gave us money to go to Breadstix for lunch, and I'm not going to let it go to waste."

* * *

I'm still staring at the touch screen on my cell phone when Breadstix's sweet elderly waitress sets my plate of piping hot baked ziti in front of me. Joe drums a light cadence on the faux wood table top before picking up his fork and twirling a massive amount of the spaghetti he had ordered onto it. As he shovels the pasta into his mouth, the display of my RAZR Maxx vibrates to notify me of the receipt of a text message. I hurriedly pick up the device and unlock it, finding that the sender's number is not saved in my phone's contacts.

_740-262-8825. Marion area code… It's got to be her._

My eyes dart from the display up to Joe, who's smirking at me knowingly. I silently plead with him, an expression complete with a pouty lower lip. He just laughs and shakes his head at me.

"You've been waiting two days. I can wait a few minutes."

My heart beats wildly out of my chest as I open the message. The small envelope icon is replaced with the words I've been waiting forty-eight hours to read.

_**Hey, Quinn. It's Rachel. :)**_

A ridiculously goofy beam splits my lips as I tap out my reply and hit the send key.

**hey stranger. thought you forgot about me. lol :)**

I pick up my own fork and load it with baked ziti. Now that I'm out of my short-lived slump, I discover that I actually am quite hungry. As soon as I bring it to my lips, my phone vibrates again.

_**The tall, blonde, Shakespeare-quoting rider with the dreamy eyes? How could I forget? :)**_

I beam giddily, despite the fact that I'm working on a mouthful of pasta. Joe makes a face and laughs at me.

**well a certain brown-eyed girl with a bright smile and flirty disposition has been on my mind lately…. :)**

My pulse pounds loudly in my ears and my hands begin to sweat a little. Ordinarily, the physical effect Rachel is having on me, even in absence, would terrify me to no end. I'd normally be running for the hills right now, away from the feelings and the closeness that was hitting me quickly. But oddly, I'm not. Strangely enough… I like it. This time when my RAZR Maxx vibrates, I've decided to ask Rachel Berry out on a date, come Hell or high water.

_**Aw, you're very sweet, Quinn. So tell me… do you think you could do this brown-eyed girl the honor of going on a date?**_

I snort in disbelief and I'm starting to have suspicions that Rachel Berry is reading my mind. I glance up at Joe, who is polishing off his plate of spaghetti and reaching across the table to stab at my penne noodles. I smack his hand away, to which he reacts with a hangdog expression.

"Joe, she asked me out."

His face lights up and he lifts his hand to connect it mid-air with mine in a high-five. "Well, what do you know? Quinnie's still got it!"

"I never lost it, kid," I smirk before turning back to my phone.

**of course. i'll blow you away miss berry :)**

I fist pump quietly in the booth as Joe watches with an amused grin, and I thank God up in heaven for letting me score a date with one of his angels.

_**Send me word to-morrow by one that I'll procure to come to thee. Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite… :) I can't wait.**_

I, Quinn Fabray, am not the pining type. And I don't giggle. But a rider with mesmerizing eyes and the spectacular smile has managed to make me do both in the span of two days.

_Damn… She's good._


	5. A Mother's Love

**Hello, kiddies! I realize it's been a very long time since my last update, but my mother's wedding was this past Sunday, so I was a tad preoccupied with the last minute plans. But I'm back again, and you all have my undivided attention.**

**So, here's a short but sweet Chapter 5!**

"Shannon!" My voice carries through the second floor of the house for the second time. "I need your help!"

I take the stairs barefoot and two at a time, hurriedly buttoning my dark fade Levi's and tugging on my white wifebeater. I'm carrying the two shirt hangers between my teeth as I get to the bottom, and I almost fall over my own bumbling feet as I make my way down the hall to the kitchen. I glance at the tacky analog clock with the Budweiser logo that hangs on the muted blue wall of the corridor. Its neon hands read 6:30, which means I have thirty minutes to choose a shirt, pick up the bunch of tiger lilies I ordered from the HyVee down the block, and go get Rachel. After spending every second since she asked me out this afternoon making sure everything will be perfect for our first night out, being late is simply not an option. I find Shannon sitting at the kitchen table with several sheets of rankings and scouting reports strewn across the balsa wood surface. She peers up at me over her half-moon reading glasses to take in my disheveled appearance and fights back a hearty chortle.

"Looks like Berry's already driving you bananas, Lion Quinn," she manages to force out, her rosy cheeks full of laughter.

Less than amused, I scowl and hold up the two dress shirts for her to survey. "Which one?"

She strokes her chin in an animated display of contemplation before pointing to the chocolate brown collared shirt in my left hand. I shuck it off the clear plastic hanger and shrug in on over my undershirt, my fingers anxiously tripping over the ivory buttons. Shannon stands up and covers my hands with hers, finishing the buttons and placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Quit stressin' so much, Q-Ball. You'll be fine. You're a great kid, and quite the lady-killer. I'll be surprised if Rachel doesn't just skip the date and take you for a little roll in the hay instead."

I laugh at that, but my lower abdomen flutters as I, not for the first time, picture Rachel naked. My eyes gloss over at the arousing thought before Shannon's light chuckle brings me out of my Berry-induced trance.

"Now, I'm serious, kiddo. This is the first girl since Santana blew into town last year, and we both know how that ended…"

Yes, we did.

Santana Lopez, better known to every female in Lima as 'Satan', had arrived last July for the M & M Rodeo Entertainment Women's Barreling Showcase. I'd heard from all the guys at the fairground that she was trouble, and that she, like me, "liked her steer". I recall the first time I saw her ride; long, silky black hair billowing in the breeze as she rounded barrel after barrel like a champion. After the competition, she'd sauntered over and introduced herself, extending her hand and tossing me a wink. From that moment forward, I was putty in her hands. She'd let me take her out to dinner at Shane's Rib Shack that night, and fell into bed with me in my room at Shannon's about two hours later. I still remember her flawless caramel skin, perfectly sized breasts, and the cursive tattoo that read 'Diablo' across the dimples of her lower back. The dirty things she whispered in my ear as she drove me over the edge again and again got me hooked on her like a drug, and we had hot, passionate sex until the sun started to turn the night sky pink. But, as I found out from Puck was customary for her, I awoke the next morning to an empty bed and a note on my nightstand.

"_Last night was fun. Hope to see you around. – S"_

I never saw her again. The fairground manager told me she'd gone back to Arizona after winning the Showcase and collecting her prize money, and that he didn't know how to get in touch with her.

The guys were right… She really was Satan.

Shannon pulls me into a hug, clearly seeing the effect of the flashback written all over my face. I wrap my arms as far around her as they'll stretch to return the embrace, and I feel Shannon's lips on the top of my head.

"If only Judy knew how you'd changed, she'd understand. You deserve better, Quinn. You deserve to be loved."

Tears spring up in my eyes at her tender words; and in that moment, for the first time in six years, I say what I'd always been afraid to.

"Thanks… Mom."

**Now, I have another little review challenge for my faithful readers:**

**The first reviewer to correctly name the source of Shannon Beiste's last line (hint: It's a very famous musical, and the TV film version stars pop artist Brandy Norwood as the lead) will win a sneak peek at the plotline for the next 3 chapters! Hop to it, good buddies! : )**

**And don't forget to review! : )**


	6. A Proper Goodnight

'**Ello, poppets! 'Tis I, back again to deliver another dose of Faberry goodness to the people.**

**And, because of ****snowdrop1026's correct answer to the last review challenge, she has already received the plotline for the next 3 chapters! So, as Kurt so kindly put it, "Hate your heart out, Kate Middleton". : )**

**Now then, onward with Chapter 6!**

I begin to feel lightheaded as I ascend the steps of the white-washed wraparound porch to the two-story farmhouse at 13 Ottawa Road. I wipe a sweaty palm on the leg of my jeans, my other hand grasping the stems of Rachel's tiger lilies tightly. The white plastic crinkles between my fingers as I take a deep breath.

_Just relax, Fabray. You've got this._

I tentatively ring the doorbell and shift my weight from one foot to the other, concentrating hard on the toes of my brown rawhide boots. My ears prick at the sound of footsteps making their way toward the entryway, and a shiver runs down my spine as I hear the dull metallic grinding of a dead-bolt lock being turned over. A large shadow darkens the warm glow that shone through the fogged glass of the door, and my stomach drops as it opens to reveal a slightly older man with an ominous way about him. He has unnaturally wooly chestnut locks, chocolate brown eyes that seem to be a carbon copy of Rachel's (although not half as inviting), and a very angular, clean-shaven jaw that's currently set in a hard frown. There are a few sprouts of coarse brown chest hair curling over the v-neck of his black t-shirt, and by the way the cotton fabric bows out at his right hip, I can tell he's carrying… though I'd rather not find out what.

"You Fabray?" he asks in a surprisingly smooth voice that doesn't match his threatening demeanor.

_That depends. Are you going to shoot me?_

The man leans against the doorjamb and folds his muscular arms across his chest as I nod slowly.

"Have her back by midnight, 'else you'll have to look into ridin' without legs. Get me?"

My heart threatens to beat its way out of my chest, my ribcage tightening apprehensively while my face flushes under his stern gaze. My tongue feels thick in my mouth as I nod again.

Just when I'm certain I'll pass out right here on the landing, Rachel's melodious voice snaps the tension.

"What the hell are you trying to do, Will? Scare her half to death?"

Her petite frame slides between us to face the intimidating man in the doorway. She jabs her index finger hard into his shoulder, and throws one more menacing glance at me before retreating into the house. Rachel lets out a huff and turns toward me after kicking the door shut with the heel of her boot. As my paralyzing fear lifts, I give Rachel an appreciative once-over in the dim yellow porchlight. Her black off-the-shoulder top showcases a supple looking expanse of her olive skin, a white bra strap clinging to her left shoulder. The black cowboy boots and dark-wash skinny jeans accentuate her hourglass figure, and her black felt cowboy hat, a strip of white braided leather encircling its crown, completes the ensemble.

_God… Still beautiful._

"Don't mind him, Quinn," she says in an exasperated tone as she takes my hand and leads me back down the wooden stairs toward the driveway. "Will takes his 'big brother' role a little too seriously when it comes to suitors."

I let out a breathy chuckle, both at her gross understatement and at the butterflies fluttering gaily in my stomach from the feel of her fingers interlaced with mine.

"I would too," I tell her honestly before presenting her with the flowers. "A rare bloom like you deserves someone to look after her."

She giggles flirtatiously as she accepts the lilies and inhales their fragrant scent. Her brown eyes sparkle when they open again, and she kisses my cheek slowly in gratitude.

"You're very sweet, Quinn," Rachel whispers gently before pulling away. I blush furiously under the brim of my hat and clear my throat to hide the warmth spreading over my cheeks.

I move to open the car door for her before settling into the driver's side of Shannon's vintage sports car.

"So," Rachel says, letting her hand lay comfortably on my wrist as I release the park-brake and shift into reverse. "Would you like to tell me where we're going?"

I simply grin at her and shake my head lightly. "Let's just say it's a place you'll know well."

* * *

"Just a few more steps, Rachel," I whisper playfully. Her hands hold onto my wrists as my own cover her eyes. I gingerly guide her around the metal gate and into the ring.

"Alright. Open."

I move to stand in front of her as she opens her warm brown eyes to take in the scene around her.

We're in the Allen County Fairgrounds ring, two rows of candles lighting a path in the dust to its center. In the middle of the ring, there's a red and white checkered picnic blanket with a wicker basket and my Alvarez guitar and stand just next to it. The stars are bright above our heads, the full moon casting a sort of magical glow over the entire spread. Rachel's breath catches in her throat as her eyes flit from the setting to me and back.

I walk over and hoist my guitar, throwing the strap over my shoulder and sliding the pick out of the strings on the neck.

"Quinn…" she gasps when she can finally find words again. "This is... amazing."

I dip my head in modesty and give her a bashful grin as I take her hand. "It's not quite done yet."

Rachel beams at me as I pull her gently by the hand to sit down on the blanket. I begin strumming jubilant chords into the pleasant night air, her mesmerizing eyes shining up at me in adoration.

"_Is she the one?  
She felt like an angel, heaven-sent.  
A sweet hello;  
Yeah, it was simple but different._"

I know my voice is nowhere near hers as far as range, but I can tell by the radiant smile she's giving me that it doesn't matter much. She's enjoying this, and seeing her smile makes me grin from ear to ear.

"_We painted the town,  
Laughing at stories like we were friends.  
But could we return  
To our own lives when the night ends?_"

My stomach does backflips when she takes off her cowboy hat and shakes her long brown curls out in the glow of the candles surrounding us. The way the light of the moon hits her makes the skin of her perfect neck seem ethereal, and I know in this moment that Rachel Berry really is an angel.

"_Wait, there's more to this.  
You would be the one I would miss._

_I'm wanting you now, that's all I can say.  
Give me your heart to hold for always.  
All that you are is all that I need.  
Together we should be._"

Rachel giggles as I do a rockstar-caliber powerslide in the dust to end my little selection. I lift the strap on the guitar to set it back on its stand before shaking the grit off the knees of my jeans.

"Was that your way, albeit off-key, of asking me on a second date?"

I smirk at her coy remark and let my index finger tap her nose lightly. "Only if you'll have me, Miss Berry."

Reaching for the basket, I pull out the metal tins of baked ziti from Breadstix and set them in front of us. Her eyes never leave mine as I offer her a fork and napkin, and pour two glasses of sparkling cider.

"So, Miss Fabray," Rachel smiles. "Tell me a little about you. I only know that you're incredibly charming and you have eyes that smolder when you look at me."

Another deep blush warms my face and neck as she smirks and lifts a forkful of pasta to her lips.

"Well," I begin slowly, drawing a deep breath. "F. Scott Fitzgerald's my favorite author, I think Walt Whitman's the greatest poet to ever pick up a pen, and I live to ride."

Rachel chuckles airily and picks up her glass to sip her cider. "Any future plans? I mean, other than riding."

I shrug lightly while chewing a bite of the flavorful ziti. "Eh, open my own ranch, settle down and have a few more kids…"

I regret the phrase as soon as it leaves my lips. Rachel's eyebrow quirks up at my choice of words, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell her, though I wasn't planning on this topic to come up so soon. I exhale heavily and place my fork back in the tin. Rachel's eyes look concerned, but I reach for her hand and offer her a small smile to let her know I don't mind the subject.

"I already have a daughter," I explain slowly, nearly boring holes in the red and white fabric with my gaze. "Her name's Beth. I had her when I was a sophomore in high school."

Rachel dips her head to find my eyes. There's no judgment or disappointment, or even pity in them. There's only silent understanding, and it's this reassurance coupled with the soothing circular patterns her thumb is making on the back of my hand that urge me to continue.

"I… I gave her up the day she was born. I didn't want her to have to grow up in a home like mine…"

Rachel's eyebrows skyrocket at this revelation, and I nod carefully.

"Beth's father and my ex-boyfriend, Finn, was always a very… _forceful_ person. He was rather accustomed to getting his way. And one night, when he slept over… He wanted things that I didn't."

Rachel gasps gently, her hand squeezing mine tight. A lone tear tracks it way down my cheek as I remember the pain; the terrible things he said to me while he stole my innocence, and the way he'd just left me to bleed out on my bed like a prostitute.

"Oh, Quinn," she whispers, sliding my hat off and setting it down next to hers. She presses a kiss to the side of my head in comfort. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't regret it at all," I say quickly, clearing my throat and pawing at the liquid tendrils of emotion that continue their trek down my face. "As twisted as that sounds, I don't. It gave me Beth, and even though I wish it could've happened differently, I wouldn't change the outcome."

Rachel smiles tenderly at me before caressing my flushed cheek. I'm suddenly hyperaware of our close proximity, and as badly as I want to damn it all to hell and put my lips on hers, I know that if I kiss her now, my story about Beth will just look like cheap pandering.

_So much for keeping the conversation 'first date appropriate'._

"You, Quinn Fabray, are the strongest rider I've ever met."

_Hmm… That's better._

I beam gratefully at her, and as rapidly as the heavy emotional moment begins, it's over, and the mood is light again.

* * *

"I had a great time with you tonight, Quinn."

We stand on the porch of Will's house again, and I can't resist glancing nervously at the door to see if the threatening homeowner in question is watching us. I've gotten her home with five minutes to spare, and I'm hoping to fill these five minutes will something… _sweet_.

"I had fun too, Rachel. Who knew the Berry family was so good at cherry stem tying?" I laugh as I remember the tying contest we'd had back at the ring with the stems from the cherries that topped off our slices of cherry pie. Rachel had out-tied me by a landslide, her twenty-three knots dwarfing my pile of ten.

"Well, you know what that means, right, Fabray?" she says in a low voice, taking a step toward me. I'm holding her flowers for her, and the hand that grips them starts to shake in anticipation.

"W-What?"

"Us Berry women are _phenomenal_ kissers."

Her warm, saccharine breath tickles my ear as she lays a kiss just against the underside of my jaw. I shudder at the sudden heat that courses through my body and settles low in my stomach. Rachel chuckles at my reaction, a smirk evident on her face.

"I wouldn't know," I goad gently, hoping she'll see my point. "A Berry woman has never kissed me properly."

Rachel snorts and slides a hand to rest at the back of my head, slowly bringing my face to hers. It seems like an eternity before our lips finally meet, but when they do, the sensation is indescribable. It feels like I'm burning and freezing at the same time; like my body is being split in half and fused back together. My hands come to rest on her hips as she deepens the kiss, a contented moan slipping from her as my thumbs caress the skin exposed by her top. Her mouth is so soft, but by contrast, the strokes of her tongue against mine are deliberate and strong, and the combination is stealing my breath with every passing moment. Rachel's lips curl into a smile under my own, and I can't remember feeling this at peace with anyone else.

She pulls away first, taking the flowers from my hand and opening the door, presumably unlocked by her phantom of a brother. My fingers feather across my lips as if trying to keep her on them, and she smirks as our eyes meet once more.

"How's that for a proper goodnight?"

_Perfect._

**AN: Alright, darlings, tell me what you thought of Rachel and Quinn's first date! Go forth and review!**

**And, for those who'd like to play another little review game, here's the challenge: The first reviewer to correctly identify the title of Quinn's song and the artist who sings it will win a sneak peek at Chapter 7, "A Day With The Enemy"! Go on, kiddies! : )**


	7. A Day With The Enemy

**Hello, dearest readers! My sincerest apologies for the wait, but I was actually mugged on the subway in New York City about 3 weeks ago, and among the things stolen was my laptop. But there was no angry mob waiting for me at the airport when I returned home, so I suppose you all don't hate me too much.**

**I'll be posting three new chapters today to make up for my absence. Now, enough talk. Here's the long-awaited, super long Chapter 7!**

I'm standing in my en-suite bathroom at Shannon's, ruffling my unruly shock of damp blonde hair with a towel when I hear my cell phone vibrate on the balsa wood surface of my bedside table. Pulling on a pair of black Nike sweatpants and a white camisole, I flip the light off in the bathroom and make my way over to my bed. A smile cracks my face when I spot the name beneath the screen's flashing envelope icon. _Rachel._ I tug gently on the small metal chain of the lamp next to the phone, bathing my bedroom in a warm glow. Climbing under the navy blue duvet, I take my RAZR Maxx in my hand and tap the backlit display to open the message.

_**I had a wonderful time with you tonight. : )**_

My heart skips when I read the kind words, and I spell out my reply with a giddy grin.

**i could say the same to you miss berry: )**

After I send the text, I find myself wishing she was here in bed with me, allowing me to spoon her petite body from behind and inhale as much of her scent as my lungs can hold. I've never felt this way about anyone before… Sure, I'd pined after Santana for a few weeks after our incredibly brief affair, but she'd never had the hold on me that Rachel does. Thoughts of her could never set my body ablaze and cause my heart to flutter in my ribcage.

_**When will I get the pleasure of seeing you again, Miss Fabray?**_

My mind flashes back to the earth-shattering kiss we shared; the way she'd caused the heat to rise in my body and almost overwhelm my senses. Even my first kiss with Puck underneath the playground slide in sixth grade didn't hold a candle to what Rachel's lips gave me on her porch tonight. I let a contented sigh fill the room and remember her irresistibly delectable mouth and her determined tongue. A chuckle shakes my shoulders when I come to the happy conclusion that I'm hopelessly addicted to Rachel Berry.

**tomorrow?: )**

Her reply is nearly immediate, and I can't help but wonder if she's waiting by the phone the way I am, jumping at every opportunity to hear from me.

_**Perfect. : )**_

My lips split into an eager smile and I internally fist-pump as I tap out directions to the ranch Shannon and I use to practice five days out of every week. I'll be there most of the day tomorrow, and I want to see Rachel again as soon as I possibly can. Besides, there's something about the fact that she'll get to see me ride that turns me on a bit as well. I attach a flirtatious 'goodnight' to the text message and press the 'send' button with my thumb. Setting my phone down against my pillow, I reach over and turn off the lamp, allowing only the backlight of my RAZR Maxx and the dim glow of the moon to light the room. I pull my duvet up around my shoulders and close my eyes, a slightly foolish grin plastered onto my face, no doubt because the beautiful rider that's rapidly blazing her way into my heart.

* * *

"Dig, dig, dig! The son of a bitch isn't going to just roll over for you, Quinn!"

Shannon's yelling, an even mixture of abuse and coaching, comes from the platform against the fence of the ring. The one we use is one of five that Jim and Sandy McElroy, owners of Broken Horn Ranch, keep set up year-round. The McElroy men are good friends of Shannon's, and also hosted the rodeo in which I made my riding debut. After seeing my particularly impressive performance that day (second place in the men's bracket), Josie McElroy, the family's best rider, had generously offered me a ring to practice in and two young bulls, Theo and Crockett, to ride. I like to think that she'd tuned into my natural talent and was eager to help me hone my craft… But Shannon swears it was my signature half-smile, complete with dimple, that had made Josie so willing to lend a hand.

At present, I'm having a particularly rough go at taming Crockett, the most stubborn and determined of the two bulls. Theo will normally tire himself out, making his kicks less sporadic. Crockett, on the other hand, is a constant fire of perseverance, stopping at nothing to shake me off of his meaty flank. His horns are shorn down so that he can't gore me, but he can still trample me if I'm not careful. And now, as I approach my sixteen second goal, I can tell he's getting extra restless.

_Fourteen. He's not goin' to wear down. Sit back and roll your hips._

My body responds to my mind immediately, but Crockett spins again, wrenching me forward in the saddle. I brace hard and sit back, preparing for him to kick again. My biceps ache from the exertion, but I know that I can break sixteen. I've done it before on Theo… Now, it's Crockett's turn.

_Fifteen. Dammit, he's rearing up to buck; get flat and clench your legs._

Before I can complete my thought, the bull throws himself into a tail-spin, tossing me out of the saddle and onto my stomach. The wind is knocked forcefully out of my lungs from my fall, and the bullfighters, Matt and Blaine, hurry to contain the angry black beast before he uses my body as a doormat. I expect to hear Shannon swear loudly over on her platform, but no expletives come. I pick myself up, take a few deep breaths to stop the sputtering, and crane my neck to see what has my animated coach distracted.

The cream cowboy hat that sits atop long brown locks causes a grin to split my lips. _Rachel._

I break into a light jog, hopping the low metal gate of the ring and making my way over to the pair. I give myself a heavy pat to shake some of the dirt off of myself, and Shannon nods toward me to signal my approach. Rachel turns and greets me with a gentle smile that I return effortlessly. Her cream off-the-shoulder t-shirt billows in the slight breeze and her ripped skinny jeans allow me to admire her perfect legs once again. Rachel lets out a small cough, and I blush to the roots of my hair when her smirk tells me I've been caught.

"Hi," I force out hoarsely, my chest still sore from the fall.

"Hi back," she simpers before taking a step toward me and grasping my hand lightly. She stands on her tip-toes, elevating her stature so that her lips are at my ear. "I just sweet-talked Shannon into letting you skip practice to spend the day with me. You're welcome."

My head spins when her warm breath ripples across my cheek, and I look up to see Shannon flash me a thumbs-up and a wink.

_Good Lord… I think I love her already._

* * *

"You don't have to shower, you know…"

I chuckle at Rachel's obvious innuendo as I lead her up the stairs of Shannon's house to my bedroom. I'm holding her hand, something that still thrills me, even though I've done it a million times since I met her a few nights ago. She files into my room behind me, looking around to survey her surroundings while I gather some jeans and my favorite blue plaid button-up from my small closet. When I turn to glance at her again, a faint smile graces her features as she admires the twenty riding trophies on the shelf by the door.

"I'd rather not smell like a rodeo while I'm spending the day with a pretty girl."

Rachel blushes at my compliment and moves to sit on my bed. "I wouldn't mind… Dirty, dusty Quinn kind of turns me on…"

Her words turn my mouth to sandpaper. Rachel's brown eyes darken when they travel down my body and back up again. I can feel the wetness pooling between my legs, and I can't help but think about how easy it would be for me to close the door and lock it; to push her back against my mattress and pull her clothes off; to touch her, taste her, mark her…

Rachel's lips form her signature smirk, and I suddenly realize that my eyes are probably telling her everything that's happening in my head. I clear my throat and tighten my grip on my clothes before heading toward the bathroom door. She laughs airily at my abrupt nervousness, and lays back to recline against my pillow.

"Take your time. I'll be right here."

_Damn it all to hell… This girl is going to kill me._

I spend thirty minutes under the ice cold spray of my showerhead, and even that does nothing to calm the heat radiating from my core.

However, the extra twenty I spend with my fingers inside myself, stroking to thoughts of the sexy rider outside my door, seems to do the trick.

* * *

After I get dressed in my bathroom and towel my hair dry, I open the door to find Rachel sitting at the edge of my bed with her hat at her side and her jeans unbuttoned. She sends me a knowing smile, and my mind runs rampant with what she's no doubt just done in my room.

_Rachel Berry just touched herself. In my room. On my bed. While I was touching myself in the shower._

_Oh. My. God._

I don't notice my mouth is open until I hear Rachel giggle from her perch at the foot of the mattress. I snap it shut hurriedly and run a trembling hand through my damp hair.

"Uh, sorry I took so long. I had to get all the dirt out of my hair," I manage to stammer out, my eyes looking everywhere but Rachel's.

"It's alright," she replies sweetly, picking up her hat and heading toward the door. "I had some… _business_… to take care of."

My heart stops in chest. My palms grow sweaty, and suddenly, it feels like the walls of my bedroom are closing in on me. All I can see, hear, and smell is Rachel, and it's threatening to overwhelm me. I blindly reach for a hair elastic from my nightstand and tie half of my hair up in a small ponytail and let the rest hang down. After a deep breath, I follow my vixen out of my room and back down the stairs.

_It's going to be a long day._

* * *

"So your friend Noah is a mixed martial arts fighter?"

I nod as I guide the car into the parking lot of the Rocktagon Fighting Gym. I'd half-heartedly asked Rachel if she'd wanted to stop by Puck's MMA match this afternoon, and she'd agreed without hesitation. To say I was surprised would be an understatement, seeing as it really didn't seem like Rachel's kind of scene. She had told me she'd never been to a fight before, and I'm honestly more than a little worried that she'll be miserable in the environment she's about to put herself in: an airless room that reeks of sweat and beer, full of drunken, testosterone-fueled men placing bets on which fighters will leave the ring on a stretcher. However, I couldn't help but smile when she'd whispered that she wasn't afraid; she'd have me to protect her.

"Yeah," I say while letting myself out of the driver's side and circling around the car to open Rachel's door. "Calls himself 'Puckasaurus'."

A hearty, sonorous laugh erupts from Rachel, and I can't resist joining in. Shannon and I had come up with the nickname as a joke one night at Rosalita's, but Puck had been adamant about making it his ring name. In hindsight, it was pretty ridiculous.

I push the dirty glass door to the gym open for Rachel before I follow her in. The fights have already started, and the garbled voice that comes over the loud-speaker tells us that Puck is up next. There are various booths crammed onto the back wall of the small space, selling beer and fighter merchandise such as t-shirts, posters, and even gloves and trunks. The ring is in the center of the room and is elevated about two feet off the sticky hardwood floor. As I scan the sea of folding chairs for two open seats, I hear Rachel squeal in excitement.

"There's Noah! Look, Quinn!"

She points giddily at a black t-shirt hanging on a mesh grid near the back corner of the gym. Sure enough, Puck's full body, a fighting stance immortalized in cotton, stares back at us. Rachel uses her small frame to weasel her way through the crowd, and before long, we're standing in front of a sleazy looking old man with three teeth in his head and a dingy white wifebeater that reads 'I hope they serve beer in Hell'. He gives Rachel a lascivious grin at which I can't help but wince.

"What can I get for you two pretty young things?"

Rachel's clearly too excited about getting the shirt to notice the way the man has leaned over his small table to get a better look down her shirt. Before he can bore holes in the fabric of her blouse with his beady brown eyes, I step in front of her, keeping my arm on her waist to ensure that she doesn't get sucked into the crowd behind us.

"Eyes up here, pal. Give me an adult medium in the Puckasaurus t-shirt, please."

I spit out the pleasantry, and judging by the way he recoils under my stare, I can tell I've made my point. He quotes me a price - ten dollars, which I'm sure he inflated because of my harsh treatment, but I honestly don't give a damn - and I slap the cash on the filthy green tablecloth between us, grab the shirt, and take Rachel's hand in mine to lead her toward the octagon.

When we finally find two metal folding chairs that don't have urine or cheap beer on them, I guide her over and hand her the t-shirt as we sit down.

"Sorry about that," I grumble while she puts her arms through the sleeves of the garment and lifts it over her head. "Pervert was trying to look down your shirt."

Rachel sends me a warm smile and takes my hand in hers, her thumb working soothing circles against my wrist. "Thank you for protecting my honor, Quinn. As for the shirt, however, I would have paid for it."

I shook my head and laid a small peck against her cheek. "No dice, Berry. My date, my tab."

Rachel blushes lightly and gives my hand a squeeze. "Alright. But the least you could do is kiss me properly."

Before I can protest, her lips are against mine, a quiet moan slipping from my own mouth as it moves against hers. A series of catcalls erupts from the drunkards behind us, and I laugh when I open my eyes to see that Rachel has given them all the finger.

_Dear Big Guy Upstairs,_

_Thanks for letting me borrow one of your angels. You can have her back when I'm dead._

_Love, Quinn_

* * *

We watch Puck beat the living hell out of some puny fighter from Columbus (and celebrate by kissing the fighter's busty girlfriend) before I check the time on my phone. The white Arial font numbers read 6:30 at night. Pushing it back into my pocket, I lean over and tell Rachel that we have to go.

"But Quinn," she whines adorably, tugging my arm as a toddler would his mother's. "We have to stay and wait for Puck! I really want him to sign my shirt!"

As happy as I am that she's had a good time cheering for Puck and watching the fighters, there's something special I'd like for her to see, and it's time-sensitive.

"Rach," I yell over the roar of the fans. "I have a surprise for you, and if we don't leave now, we'll miss it."

Before I can finish my sentence, Rachel is pulling me out of my seat and weaving through the crowd toward the exit. I laugh out loud at her eagerness, and once we're outside, I take a deep breath of the fresh air while she drags me to the car. I take Shannon's car key from the front pocket of my jeans and unlock the door. Rachel's inside before I can blink, and by the time I finally get into the driver's side and start the car, Rachel's almost bouncing in her seat.

"So where are we going?"

I chuckle and guide the car out of the parking lot and onto the highway. "You'll see, baby. Just hang on."

The term of endearment slips out before I can stop it, and I flush a bright crimson when I realize what I've said. "I mean Rachel. Sorry, I just -"

Rachel's reassuring giggle calms my nerves immediately. "Relax, Quinn. It's alright. In fact," she leans over the console to whisper in my ear. "I like it."

A smile so bright it sparkles in my eyes breaks across my face, and I reach for Rachel's hand, bringing it gently to my lips when her fingers grasp mine lightly.

"Good."

* * *

The gravel of the Heritage Park lot vibrates the small sports car as I pull onto the concrete. I park next to the only other car on the lot: a silver Chrysler mini-van. Between two large oak trees, a white screen is visible through the windshield. Before Rachel can open her door, I hold my hand up to tell her to wait. Getting out of the car, I stretch over to knock on the driver's side window of the van. Almost immediately, my old friend from high school, Artie Abrams, rolls it down.

"Hi, Quinn! All ready?" he chirps happily.

"Yeah. Thanks again for doing this, Artie. I know you probably have plans tonight."

He snorts loudly and opens the door, signaling to me to get his wheelchair from the trunk of the van. "Sure. My couch and Dr. Zhivago DVDs are really going to miss me."

I laugh heartily at the joke while I get his chair and help him into it. He wheels himself around to the trunk of the van and pulls out the projector and the small folding table he uses as a stand. I take the table from him while he pulls the machine into his lap, along with his laptop and a DVD case.

"That the right one?" I nod to the disc as we make our way over to the small grassy knoll behind the screen. Artie simply rolls his eyes at my question.

"No, Fabray. I brought my stash of Asian porn. You caught me."

I snort and go to make a joke about Tina, but Artie's death stare tells me I shouldn't. They must be fighting again.

"Alright, Quinn. I've already wirelessly synchronized the projector to my computer. Just tap the mouse pad to start the movie. You can just leave the equipment out; Tina and I will come and get it later."

"Thanks, Artie," I say genuinely, bending over after I set up the small table to give him a hug. "You're the best."

"Damn straight," he mumbles into my shoulder before turning and wheeling himself back toward his van.

I help him back into the driver's side of his handicapable vehicle, fold his wheelchair, and strap it onto the rack at the back of the car. After Artie's brake lights disappear into the dusk, I go over to the passenger side and let Rachel out. I'm met with a kind smile and a peck on the cheek. When I look down at her questioningly, she just beams harder.

"You set all this up for me?"

I just nod slowly and reach for the same red and white checkered blanket that we used for our first date, tugging it out of the back seat. Taking her soft hand in mine, I lead her over to one of the park's smaller shade trees and spread it out, gesturing for her to sit while I go and start the film.

The stars are out by the time I return to her, and Rachel gasps as the opening credits for _The Way We Were_ flash onto the projection screen. She's staring at me in awe when I sit down next to her, reclining against the firm trunk of the tree.

"How did you know -"

"That this was one of your favorite movies? I called my friend Mercedes who works at the Family Video in Marion. She was able to run your name through the system, and she told me that you've rented this movie twelve times in the past year. So, either you loved it, or you were burning copies to sell on the bootleg circuit."

Rachel's eyes mist over with tears, a watery smile on her face. "That's probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Before I can brush off her compliment, she scoots over and rests her head on my shoulder, snuggling into my side and throwing her arm across my waist. I grin into her hair and plant a small kiss to the top of her head, wrapping my arm around her and marveling in the peace I've found for the first time in my life.

* * *

She kisses me each time Katie and Hubbell kiss, and when they dance together, she tugs me to my feet and lets me hold her as we sway slowly beneath the moonlight. And when the end credits begin to roll, she whispers against my collarbone.

"Do you think we could be like them?"

I nuzzle my nose into the crown of her head again, flexing my arms around her petite frame to pull her closer to me.

"Of course. I'd like to leave out the whole 'doomed love' part, though."

At that, Rachel smiles into my neck. "Right. We can just have the love, then."

"Right," I sigh happily, closing my eyes and breathing in the naturally sweet scent of Rachel's skin. "Just the love."


	8. Shot Through The Heart

**Warning: There's a bit of sadness in this chapter. But what's a good story without a little turmoil?**

My worn brown riding boots kick up small clouds of dust as I make my way through the old rickety stands of the Lima Greensboro Coliseum. Rachel had mentioned riding here last night, and part of me had been slightly aroused at the thought of seeing my breathtaking girlfriend - God, it feels good to say that - covered in dirt and taking on a particularly ornery bull. So, I'd stopped by the HyVee a few streets over from Shannon's to pick up a bunch of tiger lilies, and headed over to the arena to surprise her. I chuckle to myself as I realize that only part of the reason why I'm here is to see the look on her face… the other portion is because I can't wait to kiss her again.

I can see Rachel from where I'm sitting, adjusting her cowboy hat and focusing hard as she listens to an older blonde woman in a black Adidas tracksuit with white piping. Sue Sylvester, no doubt.

_Rachel was right. She is scary._

I can't help thinking about how cute Rachel looks when she's trying to concentrate, and I smile a little when she pulls on her gloves and drops into the chute with a large brown bull, its horns shorn down to prevent injury. She gives the high sign to the two bullfighters standing outside the metal doors, and they yank the ropes connected to the chute, throwing the doors open.

Rachel's low center of gravity allows her a special advantage, and she grips the bull's saddle tight while keeping her torso flat against the mount. The beast jerks to right, and Rachel adjusts immediately, rolling her hips to keep her bottom down. It twirls hard to the left, and again, Rachel flexes her surprisingly defined biceps and pulls herself against the saddle. I'm keeping count in my head without realizing it, and I'm amazed that I've managed to count to thirteen without seeing Rachel hit the ground. My mouth falls open when I hit fifteen seconds, and when she finally dismounts, I've made it to twenty.

_Damn. Shannon was right… She is competition. My best is eighteen._

I watch my girlfriend fall on her back, her long brown ponytail swishing around in the dust while she barrel-rolls away from the still kicking bull. Smiling as she picks herself up and dusts off her short frame, I grab her bouquet of flowers and make my way toward to bull pen. I fall into a light trot, my feet feeling surprisingly light as I round the corner of the wooden stall. I'm totally unprepared, however, for the harsh words that hit my ears when I do.

"What do you mean you haven't slept with her yet?" I hear Sue's hardened voice say. "Love her and leave her, just like the rest. It's a run-of-the-mill job."

_No. Not Rachel. Please, not Rachel…_

"Sue -" Rachel's own melodious tone sounds from behind the wood. She seems exasperated, but Sue cuts her off.

"Don't you 'Sue' me, Berry. You want to win Madison County? You beat Fabray. You want to beat Fabray? You throw her off her game. You want to do that? You sleep with her. Please explain to me what part of this is unclear to you."

… _She was just trying to win the rodeo?_

My grip on the lilies' stems tightens as I step out from my hiding place to reveal myself. Sue's back is to me, but Rachel's eyes lock on mine immediately. Tears form in my eyes, threatening to spill over, but when Sylvester turns to see what has her rider's attention, I steel myself. I refuse to let either of them see just how much they've hurt me.

"So was it all a lie, Rachel?" my voice cracks horribly, my gaze boring into her apologetic eyes. "The touching, the kissing, the flirting…? Was any of it true?"

Rachel takes a step toward me and opens her mouth to answer, but Sylvester's arm shoots out to stop her. I give Sue a hard stare that she returns without fear, and I drop the tiger lilies at Rachel's feet, my hazel eyes never leaving her conniving advisor's.

"Consider Madison County won. I'll withdraw tomorrow."

Rachel's pleas fall on deaf ears as I make my way back up the wooden stairs to the stands. The tears sting my eyes again, and I'm just barely able to make it to Shannon's car before I break down. My whole being crumbles, and I sink to my knees, sobs wracking my entire body. And the saddest part of my turmoil is that after Santana, I should have seen this coming. I should have been more careful.

_Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… And break my heart._

**AN: OH, DEAR GOD! You all have no idea how much it killed me to write that. Seriously. Ugh.**


	9. Road To Nowhere

**One of the shorter chapters, but trust me, it's worth it. : )**

I have no idea where I am or where I'm going. When I got into Shannon's car, my vision was blurred with angry tears, and in my haste to leave the girl who had just ripped out my still-beating heart, I hadn't paid any attention to which direction I'd taken off in, or how fast I was driving. Now, as I look down at the speedometer and notice I'm going twenty miles over the speed limit, I finally slow down and ease into the parking lot of a gas station that's clearly seen its fairer times.

After the car glides to a halt, I rip the keys from the ignition and pull my knees up to my chest in an attempt to hold myself together. Sobs tear through my lungs, my heart shattering all over again as I remember Sylvester's cruel words.

"_Love her and leave her, just like the rest," _she'd snorted. _"We've done this before. It's a run-of-the-mill job."_

Liquid tendrils of emotion trek their way down my cheeks as I remember the way Rachel's deafening silence had spoken volumes, as if she was actually contemplating her sadistic coach's logic. That's what had hurt the most… The way she hadn't stood up and fought for what we had. Or, at least, what I'd thought we had. I slam my fist against the dashboard, smashing the brand new XM Satellite Radio receiver Shannon bought with her cut of the purse winnings from my last victory. She'll be pissed when she finds out I broke her new toy, but right now, I honestly don't give a damn. My soul is breaking, and there's no price tag on that. Although, for Rachel and Sue, the price must be five thousand dollars, a blue ribbon, and a grainy picture in the local paper.

In the midst of my self-pity party, my cell phone vibrates in the cupholder next to me. I paw at the tears beneath my eyes and pick it up to look at the ID on the text message.

Rachel. Of course.

I consider turning the phone off and going back to wallowing in the cruel ways of the world, but a small nagging part of me flashes back to the way she'd grinned at me after our first kiss, or the way she'd let me hold her as we danced under the glow of the moon. Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap the screen and open the message.

_**Quinn,**_

_**I called Shannon, and she said you hadn't come home, so rather than wait, I'll simply type what I need to say.**_

_**I don't expect you to forgive me for what Sue and I planned to do to you. If the situation were reversed, I wouldn't even consider it. But there is one thing you need to know.**_

_**It was real. The laughter, the affection, the kisses, the plans for a future with you… It was all real. I stopped playing Sue's ridiculous game the minute I sang to you in Rosalita's that night. I fell hard for you… And when you saw me today, I was about to tell Sylvester to shove it. I don't want to win if I can't have you, Quinn.**_

_**There's no way I can express all that I feel in a text message… So I'd like to let you hear me say it. Meet me at Breadsticks in an hour… if there's any chance at fixing this.**_

_**Rachel**_

A watery smile spreads across my lips as I read the message a second time, and a third. The anger and pain that had stabbed at my chest only moments ago is gone… And the butterflies I've had for Rachel since my hazel eyes met hers fall back into the pit of my stomach. There is, however, a piece of me that does not trust her, and I know deep down that it will take time for her to earn my confidence again. But as someone who's lived her life based on the opportunity of a second chance, I'm more than willing to let her try. I place the key back into the ignition to send the car roaring to life again. Pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway, I push the gas pedal to the floor and head for Breadsticks at breakneck speed. I don't realize I haven't replied until I'm about ten minutes into my drive, and I pick up my RAZR Maxx to tap out a fast and short reply.

I don't notice the red traffic light up ahead. And I don't notice the eighteen wheel tractor-trailer roaring toward the intersection I'm about to speed through.

Just as my thumb hovers above the send button, a bright light floods the car, and the sound of the MACK truck's horn nearly pops my eardrums. I hurriedly tap the screen and grip the wheel with both hands in an attempt to avoid collision. But when I turn my head and stare out of the driver's side window, I know it is too late. Staring into the face of certain death itself, all the sound in my world gives way to the beep of my cell phone that signifies my sent text message.

**on my way**

* * *

**on my way**

Rachel shifts in her seat in an effort to escape the air vent that blows right on her head. Closing the text message from Quinn, she keeps her red and puffy eyes trained on the front door, hoping that a cowboy hat covering a small shock of blonde hair will dip into the restaurant. The crowd at Breadsticks is starting to thin out, and after the fourth time the elderly waitress asks her if she's ready to order, she shakes her head, rises from the booth, and heads for the exit.

As she pushes her way outside into the warm dusk air, the iPhone in the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie vibrates once more. Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of the sweatshirt, Rachel fumbles for her phone. She is puzzled when she recognizes Shannon Beiste's caller ID. She slides the icon across the screen to answer, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"Hello?"

Rachel Berry's world falls out from under her as Shannon's hoarse, pain-stricken voice comes through her phone's speaker.

"Rachel… There's been an accident."


	10. Coming Out Of The Dark

**I understand that all of you probably want to use medieval-style torture tactics on me after that last chapter, but I assure you, no one was more upset than me when Quinn got in her accident in "On My Way". And, because I would have gone all Charles Manson on Ryan Murphy's ass if he would have killed her off, she does live on in Life's A Rodeo.**

**So put away your ropes and guillotine blades, and enjoy Chapter 10!**

My head hurts like hell and the harsh scent of lemon Pine-Sol floor cleaner flits into my nostrils when I try to take a breath. I manage to pry my eyelids open slowly, and I'm met with a sense of relief that the room is only lit by one panel of fluorescent lights on the ceiling. Robotic beeps stab at the silence of the space, and when I turn my head slowly to locate the source of the noise, I'm surprised to find the screen of a heart monitor angled away from the bed I'm lying in. The blue digital display sounds at each beat of my heart, the top of the screen labeled 'Fabray, Lucy'. Looking around the room again, I'm able to discern that I'm not in my bedroom at Shannon's. The property tag on the morphine IV drip next to my arm reads 'Lima Memorial Health System', and it all comes back to me now.

_Hospital. The accident._

A sigh jerks me out of my stupor, and it's only then that I feel five small, warm fingers woven between the spaces of my own. My eyes follow the sound, and I'm pretty sure my heart monitor skips a few beats when I see the owner of the hand enclosed in mine.

_Rachel._ _She came._

I smile weakly when I notice that she's asleep, her petite body curled up beneath a hospital issue blanket in one of the armchairs she no doubt pushed over to my bedside. Her head rests on a pillow perched on top of her knees, her silky brown hair cascading over it like a waterfall. If my arm weren't covered in purple bruises and thick white bandages, I'd reach up and run a hand through it just to let her know I was here; that I was with her. I'm not allowed any more time to bask in Rachel's calming beauty, because the door to my room opens slowly to reveal someone I never wanted to see again.

"What the hell do you want, Sylvester?"

The older woman simply rolls her eyes and tosses a small black duffel bag to the floor at the foot of my hospital bed. "Good evening, Fabray. You look like death warmed over."

"Fuck you," I manage to spit, my mouth feeling like cotton batting is sewn onto my tongue.

Sue simply rolls her eyes and tosses a small black duffel bag to the floor at the foot of my hospital bed. "Oh relax, Maggie Parker, you'll pull your stitches. I'm just dropping off a change of clothes for Berry. She hasn't left your room since you landed yourself here four days ago."

That makes me smile, my heart swelling in affection for the beautiful rider at my side. Sue, unfazed by my love-struck glance at Rachel, continues.

"You're damn lucky to be alive, Mario Andretti. A MACK truck made Shannon's little vintage roadster look like something a bulldozer shit out."

My eyes narrow at her as my grip on Rachel's hand tightens slightly. "Damn. Now I don't have a car to run you over in."

She snorts incredulously and puts both hands on her hips. "I underestimated you, Fabray. You've got bite. And since you've turned my best rider against me, I refuse to allow myself to admire the budding Sue Sylvester in you."

I'd give her the finger if I wasn't still weak from the painkillers. There is one phrase in her short self-righteous monologue, however, that jumps out at me. "What do you mean 'I turned Rachel against you'?"

Sue lets out an exasperated sigh and uses both of her hands to brace herself against the footboard of the hospital bed. "She was backing out of the plan. She told me that she couldn't go through with it because she was falling in love with you or some nonsense like that."

At that, a full-fledged grin parts my lips. My heart squeezes in my ribcage, and happy tears prick up in my eyes when I gaze down at Rachel's still slumbering form, oblivious to our conversation. I let my thumb rub slow circles on the back of her hand, causing her sigh contentedly in her sleep. Sue, apparently disgusted with our blatant display of affection, grumbles something about using attack dogs next time before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

I close my eyes and lay my head back against my pillow, expelling a deep breath of air from my lungs and letting the tears of joy roll over my bruised cheeks. I bring Rachel's hand to my lips to kiss it gently and I begin to sing to her softly, my voice raspy and low.

"'_Cause we belong together now;_

_Forever united here, somehow._

_You've got a piece of me, and honestly,_

_My life would suck without you."_

I drift off into a peaceful sleep, Rachel's soothing touch keeping me tethered to world in the place of gravity.

**AN: In other news, I, A. Tenmeadows, am currently looking for a beta. Any interested parties can message me. Thanks! : )**


	11. Feeling The Effects

**Hello, my darlings! It is I, A. Tenmeadows, back again with another dose of Faberry love. : )**

**I'd like to thank Chopin44 for suggesting Santana's return, because it wasn't something I'd considered when I mapped out the plotline for Life's A Rodeo.**

**I hope you all like it! Enjoy Chapter 11! : )**

Time runs together when you spend most of your days unconscious. It's as if any dream you have goes by in slow motion, so much so that you've begun to realize that anything you see behind your eyes is only a figment of your imagination. But you can't find it in yourself to care. You start lucid dreaming, twisting the reality of your life so that it's more appealing. You do it because it feels good, and just for this moment, you want something about your situation to feel good.

So you let your dreams wipe it all away. No accident. No heartbreak. Just Rachel.

I can feel her, even though I'm sure I've been asleep for more than a few hours. Her essence has completely penetrated me. It's gotten such a firm hold on my soul that even physically separating myself from her would give me no reprieve. This fact both astounds me and frightens me, because as hard as I try to erase the pain she's caused me, I can't bring myself to forget. My heart wants so desperately to forgive her; to take her into my arms and tell her that everything is going to be alright between us.

My head, however, feels differently. It tells me not to trust her; to keep her at a distance until I figure out where we go from here. All in all, that rationale makes sense… But as I've come to find, the heart doesn't operate on logic.

Suddenly, a beautiful voice breaks into my thoughts and beckons to me. I let my mind follow it into the world of the conscious, and within a few seconds, I come to realize that the sonorous voice is Rachel's. She's singing to my slumbering form, and a few warm teardrops hit my forearm.

"_The world is coming down on me,  
__And I can't find a reason to be loved.  
I never want to leave you,  
__But I can't make you bleed if I'm alone._"

Her song is mesmerizing, and a hand gently strokes my hair as I fight to open my eyes. My head is still swimming from the powerful intravenous painkillers the doctors have me on, so I'm incredibly groggy and disoriented when my heavy eyelids finally let in the light of my hospital room.

"_I hope that you see right through my walls.  
I hope that you catch me,  
__'Cause I'm already falling.  
I'll never let a love get so close.  
You put your arms around me and I'm home._"

The blurriness in my vision fades, and I'm able to make out Rachel's shimmering brown eyes, filled with both devotion and tears. The hand that was playing with my hair moves down to softly trail along my cheek, a watery smile making its way across her features. I return her smile with a weak one of my own, and a comfortable silence falls over us as I lose myself in her soothing gaze. After a time, I gather all the strength in my battered body in order to speak.

"Are trauma victims and drunkards in bars your target demographic?"

My own voice comes out as a dry, harsh croak from lack of use, but my little jibe still manages to make Rachel chuckle lightly. I can almost see the weight being lifted off of her shoulders as the laugh reverberates through her small frame.

"I didn't know trauma victims were so cheeky."

I try to shrug, but a stab of pain runs down my spine when I attempt to move. I wince and abandon the action, settling instead on sticking my tongue out at her. She snorts at my childishness, but there's still a small amount of guilt in her eyes that she's attempting to mask with wariness. I can tell that she's trying to hold back from blurting out what's bothering her, but in our current situation, it isn't hard to guess.

"This wasn't your fault, Rachel," I whisper softly, laying my hand on her arm in comfort.

The tears flow freely down her cheeks now, and a gentle sob escapes her as she rests her forehead lightly on my shoulder. I wish my sore body would let me hold her; or at least kiss her anguish away. I don't blame her at all for what's happened to me, because the mistake was mine. I want to tell her as much, but I know that as stubborn as Rachel can be, that assumption of responsibility would only end in an argument.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn," she brokenly mumbles against the thin fabric of my hospital gown.

The door to my room squeaks open while I'm dropping small kisses to the crown of Rachel's head. I assume that it's Sue again, back to make more cruel jokes about my accident, so a rather stinging insult is on my tongue when I glance up to see my new visitor. My heart relaxes in my chest as I notice that this time, a much younger and kinder-looking blonde is smiling back at me. She looks so New York chic, with her ripped Miss Me jeans and Urban Outfitters owl t-shirt covering her tight dancer body.

"Quinn, you're awake!" Brittany almost screams before rushing over to my bedside and pecking me on the cheek. I shouldn't be surprised to see her, considering the fact that Brittany has been with me for every major event in my life. Still, I know she's at Julliard, and she's not able to just drop everything and fly to Ohio whenever she feels like it.

"Yeah, I'm up, Britt," I laugh at her excitement before looking back at Rachel, who's grinning warmly at my interaction with my best friend. It's then that I realize, however, that I've completely forgotten my manners. "Oh, Brittany, this is -"

"Rachel. I know," Brittany giggles lightly. "We met while you were sleeping."

I dip my head shyly and blush hard as Rachel squeezes my hand again. I hadn't even thought of that. While Rachel and I share another love-struck gaze, Brittany leans down to whisper in my ear.

"I like her."

It's this simple seal of approval that makes me grin at my best friend. Brittany is a surprisingly good judge of character, and it warms my heart to know that she's taken a liking to Rachel. Just after the messages leaves her lips, Brittany bolts upright and begins to jump up and down happily.

"Speaking of which, there's someone really special I want you to meet, Q!"

Before I can tell her that I'm not particularly in the mood to have more visitors, Brittany practically leaps over to the door, cracks it slightly, and dips her head into the hallway. I hear her speaking affectionately to someone in the corridor, clearly trying hard to coax them into the room. After a while, Brittany opens the door fully and grasps a tan hand, leading a beautiful raven-haired woman into the room. Her long, bone-straight raven hair is covered by a tan cowboy hat, and she walks with a subtle swagger in her taupe plaid shirt and stonewash jeans. My jaw drops when my eyes meet the stranger's intense brown ones, and just as Brittany opens her mouth to introduce us…

"Santana?" I breathe in shock. My eyes flit over to the rider next to me when I feel her tense, and I'm confused when I see that Rachel's eyes are burning with hatred.

Santana's sculpted eyebrows skyrocket when she spots Rachel, and she throws her a nonchalant wink and a shit-eating grin. "Berry? Well, I'll be damned. February 2011 in Columbus seems like a lifetime ago…"

Rachel looks as if she's ready to leap across my bed and shove Santana's words right down her throat, but when I give her hand another squeeze, the fire in her eyes dims slightly and she relaxes in her chair. I turn my attention back to Brittany, who looks incredibly lost and hurt at our reception to her new friend.

"Britt," I say gently in an attempt to preserve my best friend's feelings. "What are you doing with her?"

Brittany stands straight in indignation, her jaw set firmly as she answers. "She's my girlfriend, Quinn. We've been together for four months now."

She punctuates this last statement with a tender smile at Santana, who returns it just as sweetly before bringing an arm up to rest on Brittany's slim waist. I stare hard at the Latina and remember a time when having her arm around me would have set my soul on fire. That one night together had triggered a year of pining, and now that she's standing in front of me again, all I can feel in pure, unadulterated rage. My teeth clench hard, my eyebrows drawing together in a scowl.

"How the hell did you even meet her, Santana?"

The Latina smiles at Brittany again, laying a gentle kiss to Brittany's cheek. "I was staying with my friend Mike in New York, and one day, we decided to go out to lunch. We went to Sylvia's in Harlem, and our waitress was so beautiful, I knew I had to have her…"

Brittany blushes at her girlfriend's compliment and nuzzles her nose against Santana's affectionately. I fight back the bile that's rising in my throat, and Rachel hisses in distain beside me. I try not to imagine how Rachel and Santana met, but I don't doubt that they had a fling similar to the one that briefly existed between us when the Latina came to Lima. My fingers curl into angry fists when she turns back to grin at me.

"If this is another one of your cons, Lopez, I swear, I'll -"

"You'll do what, Fabray?" she scoffs incredulously before tightening her hold on Brittany. "Run over my feet with your wheelchair?"

Her comment slaps me in the face, and my eyebrows draw together in confusion. My bewildered gaze tries to find comprehension in Rachel, but when I look over at her, she is shaking her head angrily at Santana. Santana's face drops from her smug smile into a grimace, her head hanging slightly in shame. I turn my attention back to Brittany, who crosses the room to lay a gentle hand on my shin in an attempt to comfort me. I don't understand her worried expression until she makes contact. When I see her manicured fingers come to rest on my leg, a terrifying sense of panic takes hold of me.

Because I can see my best friend's hand touching me. But...

"I can't feel that," I whisper as fear begins to seize my chest.

Brittany opens her mouth to explain, but closes it again in defeat after failing to find the right words. Her eyes fall to the woven blanket sadly, piteous tears welling up in her baby blues.

"Why can't I feel it?" I say softly to no one in particular but praying someone will answer me.

I raise my hips in an attempt to get Brittany to look at me, but my legs refuse to cooperate and simply shift like logs in the bed of a pick-up truck. This further perplexes me, and as I go on to try another three times to move my lower limbs, the same result stares me coldly in the face. My futile efforts swiftly cause my bewilderment to turn to boiling rage. Slamming my palm against the mattress in frustration, I lose my patience with the overwhelming silence in the room.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?! Why the fuck don't my legs work?!"

Santana comes up behind Brittany and rests her hands on my best friend's shoulders as she starts to cry openly. I glance over to Rachel, who has tears streaming down her own cheeks. Her words barely register with me when she begins to speak in a low whisper.

"The impact of the truck with your car caused moderate compression of your spinal cord," she rasps out shakily while rubbing her thumb against the back of my bruised hand.

A lump rises in my throat when the magnitude of what she'd said finally hits me. Angry tears blur my vision as I focus my intense gaze on the foot of the bed. My own voice sounds empty when I find the strength to talk.

"I can't walk."

It's more of a statement than a question, and when Rachel nods slowly and Brittany lets out a small sob from her place on the other side of me, my entire universe shatters. I start feeling light-headed and incredibly weak, and I fall back against the pillows behind me. My body feels drained of all energy, almost as if it's been weighed down by a lead cast. I stare up at the fluorescent lights above us and let the tears escape from the corners of my eyes. My jaw clenches and unclenches a few times while I try to fight back the sob that's rising up inside me.

My career, my livelihood… Gone in an instant.

I'm barely listening when Rachel speaks again, her tone hopeful and consoling. "But it'll be alright, Quinn. Dr. Holliday says that with physical therapy, you should make a full recovery."

I simply shake my head slowly in defeat, not even bothering to make eye contact with anyone in the room. They don't understand. Riding was there for me when I was disowned by my family. It was there for me when Santana broke my heart a year ago. It's become who I am… And it's been ripped away from me.

"How can I ride if I can't walk, Rachel?"

It's then that the floodgates open. I fall into my despair, the weight of Rachel's words and my situation finally crushing me. The tears come freely now, hard sobs wracking my battered frame and shaking the bed I'm lying in. My breaths come in choppy gasps because of my crying, and I want nothing more than for Brittany and Rachel to hold me and make it all go away. I want someone to tell me that this is all a horrible nightmare, and that I'm going to wake up in my bedroom back at Shannon's, scared out of my mind but perfectly unharmed. But of course, as life has so cruelly pointed out, this is no dream. Suddenly, everything goes black. I've never fainted before, but surprisingly, no panic rips through me as I fall into the darkness. Rachel's voice calls to me, but I'm already too far gone to care. For the moment, I'm content to drown in my own melancholy.

* * *

Brittany doesn't normally sing, but right now, she's almost positive that Quinn could use something to calm her in her fitful state of unconsciousness. She'd sent Santana to check into the hotel a few blocks away from the hospital, partly because it needed to be done, but mostly because she couldn't stand the animosity that hung in the air between her girlfriend and Rachel. They'd agreed before she brought Santana into the room that they were going to ease Quinn into the news about her legs. But when her girlfriend had crassly shed light on the subject, they'd been left no choice but to tell her.

Rachel had refused to leave Quinn's side, and her devotion made Brittany smile. But the blonde dancer had insisted that Rachel get some sleep, the bags forming underneath the brunette rider's eyes darkening with each passing hour. And, as a result of her persistence, Rachel is now sound asleep on the small couch near the door, curled into a ball with a small blanket draped over her.

Across the room, her best friend continues to flinch and grunt, her body covered in a cold sweat. Brittany gently pushes Quinn's damp bangs off of her forehead and sighs.

"It's going to be okay, Quinn," she whispers into the stillness. "I promise, everything is going to be okay."

Quinn responds with a shiver followed by another soft grunt, and after Brittany presses a kiss to Quinn's clammy cheek, she begins to sing quietly to her clearly tormented friend.

"_I'll take care of you.  
Have faith that when you call my name,  
I'll be there.  
I'll be right there._

_So keep breathing.  
Keep that sweet heart of yours beating,  
I'll be right there._"

**AN: Rachel's song, Arms, is sung by the incredibly talented and super hot Christina Perri.**

**And, since I haven't done one in a few chapters, here's a little review challenge for my lovely readers:**

**The first person to tell me the name of Brittany's song and the artist who sings it shall win a chance to preview the next chapter before I post it! Run along! : )**


	12. Coping Mechanisms

**Here I am again, dear chums. Forgive the wait, but I just started a new job, and I'm still trying to get into the swing of things.**

**Anyway, here's Chapter 12. Enjoy! : )**

I fucking hate being pitied.

It's been a month since my accident, and my range of emotion has narrowed to three feelings: frustration, anger, and despair.

This fucking wheelchair, with its stupid chrome spokes and its positively loathsome memory foam seat, is just like walking around with a fucking sandwich board on my chest that says "I'm the kid that was in a car accident". I'm so fucking tired of the looks I get from the ladies in the check-out line at HyVee. I honestly want to tell them where to shove their damn two-for-one milk cartons. I'm so fucking tired of the sad eyes I get from Matt and Blaine back at the ranch. I want to tell them that no, don't need anyone to help me reach the damn lead rope for the one millionth fucking time. And I'm so fucking tired of that hangdog expression I keep getting from Brittany and Santana, like they're going to burst into fucking tears at any moment because poor, helpless Quinn got run over by a fucking MACK truck.

But the thing I hate more than the pity is the optimism.

Rachel's the one that positively oozes it. She takes me to therapy sessions with the physical therapist Dr. Holliday recommended, Emma Pillsbury, every afternoon from noon to six o'clock, and she's constantly cheering for me every step of the way. I don't mind encouragement every once in a while; it keeps me going. What really annoys the hell out of me is the way she rushes to my side when I fall down, like I'm going to fall into the cracks between the foam mats of the therapy room or something. When I trip while I'm working the parallel bars, she's right there in my face, telling me to "just try one more time, Quinn, 'cause I know you'll get it this time". It's so sugary sweet and innocent that it makes me want to do something awful, like kick a puppy or spit in a Holy Water fountain.

And on top of all of her sweetness, Rachel gave up riding to help Shannon take care of me. When I asked why, she'd just smiled, kissed my nose, and said "I can always come back to it, Quinn. There's a wounded steer who needs me now."

Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.

For once, I want someone to be mad as hell. I want someone to throw a fit and tear down the walls. I want someone to kick and scream and tell me that the fact that I can't walk isn't fucking fair. My life went from a steady climb to the top to a fucking charity case, and I'm sick of people treating me like a damn invalid.

Today is no different. I'm at the physical therapist's studio, struggling along the metallic parallel bars and trying to get my stupid, dead legs to work. Emma's watching me closely, but she doesn't say a word. She knows that I don't respond well to other people pushing me. The way I push myself is normally enough to reach whatever goal I've set.

My personal best on the parallel bars is twelve steps. That means that, with a walker, I can make it from my bed to my bathtub. My new goal is fifteen, 'cause I'm shooting for my bed to the toilet.

But, just as soon as I hit step number thirteen, my left leg gives out, sending me crashing in a heap of limbs to the black foam mat beneath the soles of my white Nike tennis shoes. Emma is kneeling down next to the bars to see if I need any help, but before I can say no, Rachel chimes in on the other side of me.

"Don't worry, Quinn," she says calmly and cheerfully. "A little more determination and focus, and you'll be walking in no time."

Finally, my self-restraining dam breaks. My slowly simmering anger boils over, and I see red. My head whips around to look Rachel in the eye, and I can see that she is alarmed by my sudden rage. She's never seen me angry before, but she's about to get a front row seat.

"I guess you're the authority on 'determination and focus', aren't you, Rachel? After all, it must have taken a shitload of 'determination and focus' for you to fuck your way into the National Rodeo Ranks, huh?!"

I regret my words the moment they leave my mouth, but try as I might, I can't take them back. A sinking feeling settles in my chest as Rachel's beautiful brown eyes widen and fill with tears. Emma gasps at my well-placed barb and covers her mouth with her hand in shock. Rachel's lip quivers pitifully as the tears begin to fall from her eyes. I open my mouth to say something, but close it when no words come out. Rachel sniffles and takes a deep breath before addressing me again. She looks everywhere but my eyes as her voice comes out in a whisper.

"I'll tell Shannon to come and get you."

She turns on her heel and slowly makes her way to the glass door, her cream cowboy boots sinking slightly into the mats underneath her light weight.

"Rachel, wait-"

But the banging of the door tells me it's already closed behind her.

Fuck.

* * *

I know how royally I've messed up today.

I've heard it from at least three different people since the incident at Emma's this afternoon. Brittany called to tell me that Rachel was refusing to come out of her room. Santana called to tell me that she was going to make sure I have a "little accident" in my wheelchair if I didn't apologize in a big way. And Shannon called to tell me how disappointed she was in me.

I think that call sucked the most. Having Shannon disappointed in me was worse than all the anger on the planet.

Which is why, at the very moment, Rachel is on her way here to Rosalita's. She's under the impression that Santana's car, a jet black 2006 Audi TT Quattro, is stalled in the parking lot and in need of a tow. When she comes inside to find Santana, she'll be walking right into my apology. I wheel myself up the ramp Joe and Puck put in for me a week ago and settle my chair at center stage. Lauren dims the lights from her place behind the bar and flicks on the spotlight that bathes me in a warm glow. This isn't going to even come close to a fitting apology, but I hope that Rachel will let me spend the rest of today and our lives making it up to her.

Why? Because I love her. I love Rachel Barbra Berry. And I honestly can't wait to tell her.

"Santana?" I can hear Rachel calling from the doorway as the dim light of dusk pours into the desolate club. Her voice is hoarse and ragged, and I can tell she's been crying. "C'mon, Santana, I want to get back home. Will's making latkes to cheer me -"

Her words stop in her throat when she spots me. Tears fill her eyes again, and my heart breaks into a million pieces when I think about what I said to her. I can't imagine the pain I've caused her, and this little stunt is going to be like putting a Band-Aid on a muscle tear.

"Please don't leave," I choke out past the rising lump in my throat. "I'd probably have to chase you down if you do, and that'd be an embarrassing experience for all involved."

Rachel lets out a snort at my terrible attempt at a joke, but moves to sit in the single chair in front of the rickety stage. She crosses her denim covered legs and lets the toe of her cowboy boot tap impatiently on the hardwood floor. I know she wants me to get on with it, so to avoid her walking out mid-performance, I begin to sing to her in the stillness of the bar where we met.

"_Let's run away from these lies.  
Back to yesterday; save tonight.  
I feel the sun creepin' up like 'tick-tock'  
I'm tryin' to keep you in my head, but if not,  
We'll just keep running from tomorrow with our lips locked.  
Yeah, you've got me beggin', beggin'._"

Rachel's expressive brown eyes fill with tears again, and panic starts to rise in my chest. But when she shows me that breathtaking smile that I fell in love with in this same piece of shit bar that brought us together before all the bullshit that's come into our lives, I know that I'm forgiven. I know that for now, we're even. For now, there's no more resentment between us. There's no more regret or shame between us now… There's just love. Gentle, kind, tender… love.

"_Baby, please don't go._  
_If I wake up tomorrow, will you still be here?_  
_I don't know.  
If you feel the way I do, if you leave I'm gon' find you._  
_Baby, please don't go."_

Tears are streaming down my face now as I gather up every ounce of strength in my body and push myself up and out of my wheelchair. Rachel, both hands over her mouth in shock as my wobbly legs support my weight, stands and gazes with pride. I smile at her and look down at my own boots positioned awkwardly beneath my torso. They might not be walking, but damn if they don't look better than they do in the chair. When I lower myself back to my wheelchair in exhaustion, Rachel climbs up on the stage and kneels down in front of me.

"One date, Quinn Fabray. You get one date to win me back. And if you do, maybe we can further negotiate our relationship."

I laugh so deeply in relief that it hurts my still-healing ribs, and pull her in for a soul-wrenching kiss. When we finally part, both due to the need for air and because Lauren coughs about six times to remind us she's there. But it's alright. We've got all the time in the world now. And I can't wait to start.


	13. Give It A Shot

**Hello, my sweet kittens! My apologies for the wait, but I actually had to write two more short filler chapters between the make-up scene in Rosalita's and the sex, because I believe gleefaberry was correct: the pace was a bit fast. The sex will remain the same, but there will be more substance behind it.**

**So, without further ado, here's the new Chapter 13!**

I feel better.

After I made up with Rachel and showed her how far my rehab was coming along, I felt a tremendous weight being lifted off of my shoulders. And now, for the first time since my accident, I'm going out. I'm not making the dreary fifteen minute ride to physical therapy with Emma, or trekking down to the hospital in the new handicapable Chrysler mini-van Shannon bought the day after I came home. No more of that bitter, reclusive pining for the life I once had. Tonight, I'm going out on a date with Rachel Berry; my beautiful, sweet, tender Rachel. If you'd told me three months ago that I'd be having dinner at Breadstix with a pretty girl like her, I'd have laughed in your face and called you a dirty liar. I never thought I'd be lucky enough, after what happened between me and Santana, to have someone stay with me through everything the way that Rachel has.

But I've never been so happy to be wrong.

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, buttoning up my hunter green collared dress shirt and getting ready to pull on my white socks when there's a soft knock on the door of my bedroom.

"Come in," I manage to grunt out, my voice strained from the effort it's taking to reach down and tug the socks over my toes.

The door opens slowly, and Brittany pushes into the room before shutting it behind her. She's wearing a plain white camisole with a pair of loose-fitting red basketball shorts that I can guess belong to Santana, her hair pulled back in the same high pony-tail she used to wear when we were cheerleading together. She gives me a gentle smile and moves across the room to cover my own fumbling hands with her own. As she kneels down on the carpet to help with my socks, Brittany's electric blue eyes gaze up at me.

"I'm happy for you and Rachel," she grins at me. I return her smile while she reaches for my chocolate brown leather cowboy boots. "I'm glad you finally found someone that makes you happy, Quinn."

"Thanks, Britt," I say contentedly after she finishes putting my boots on my feet and takes the place on the bed next to me.

"But there's something I want to talk to you about," Brittany sighs before taking my hand in mine. My eyebrows furrow in confusion at her sudden change in demeanor.

"What's wrong, B? Did Santana hurt you? 'Cause if she did, I swear I'll wring her neck –"

"That's just it, Q!" Brittany cries exasperatedly as she shakes her head. "Why can't you be happy for me and Santana? Why can't you just accept that she's changed?"

I hang my head in shame at that. When Brittany sprung the news on Rachel and me that she and Santana had been a couple for quite some time, it had both shocked and angered me. Brittany is the most kind-hearted, unassuming individual I've ever met. She's the one that convinced me to come out to my parents after graduation. She's the one that encouraged me to follow my dream of competing in rodeos all across the country. And she's the one that's always been there for me when I needed her; no matter how busy her schedule is, she's always dropped whatever she was doing (in this case, her classes at Julliard) to come and see if I was alright.

But now, in exchange for her unshakeable friendship, I've rewarded her choice to be with Santana with spite and disgust. Quite honestly, I feel like the worst best friend in the entire world.

"I'm sorry, Brittany," I whisper as a defeated tear runs down her cheek. "She was just so awful to me that I suppose it made me see the worst in everyone. And you and Shannon are my family now… I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"She won't hurt me, Quinn," Brittany says before leaning over to rest her head on my shoulder. "Actually, when Shannon called me about your accident, I was so upset that Santana pulled out of a rodeo and insisted we fly out here together to see if you were alright."

Now that shocks me. Santana, the cold, unfeeling bitch that fucked me in the very bed we sit on and left a note in the place of her body for me to find when I woke up… told Brittany that she should come and see me?

"Wow, Britt… I didn't know –"

"You should really talk to her, Q. Give her a chance. She loves me, and I know that you guys could be friends if you stopped hating each other," Brittany smiles happily at me. I don't have the heart to turn down those innocent blue eyes, so I simply nod in response.

"Good!" she squeals ecstatically and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. "Now, let's get you in your chair and downstairs. Rachel will be here any minute, and when I talked to her this morning on the phone, she said she might give you some sweet lady kisses tonight!"

My heart stops. My breathing turns to wheezes. My hands start shaking nervously. 'Sweet lady kisses', as Brittany dubbed them when we were ten years old, means sex. 'Sweet lady kisses' means sex with Rachel Berry. My face is completely blank as I lean on Brittany to get off of my bed and into the wheelchair that sits in front of my bedside table.

Tonight, if Brittany's right, I'm going to have sex with Rachel Berry.

And I'm absolutely petrified.

**Alright, lovelies, the next chapter will be the date, and THEN the sweet lady kisses shall come after. A. Tenmeadows, out. : )**


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